


trying to keep you intact

by fictionalportal (kienava)



Series: Back to Beacon: Bees Edition [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Bruises, Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Battle, Semblance (RWBY), Sharing a Bed, This is so soft, Volume 2 (RWBY), descriptions of bruises and post-battle physical damage, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 10:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20329750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kienava/pseuds/fictionalportal
Summary: Prompt from KeepItOnMe.Follow up to "Painting the Town" from Volume 2 - Blake is concerned about Yang after she takes some serious hits in the fight against Roman's mech. Inspired bythis artworkand how Yang shoulders more pain than anyone truly realizes.





	trying to keep you intact

Even though they’d technically let Roman get away (again), Blake didn’t see the battle as a complete waste of time. One less mech in their enemies’ hands was cause for celebration.

After facing off with Roman and his mysterious new henchman, though, team RWBY’s jovial spirit was dimmer than usual. Weiss’s pathetic attempt at a pun only drew more attention to Yang’s unusually dark mood. On any other day, Blake knew Yang would take the opportunity to mock Weiss appropriately for the terrible joke before offering a better substitute, but none came.

Something was definitely wrong.

Of course, despite the light drizzle and rolling thunderclouds, Yang insisted on driving her bike back to campus.

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Weiss challenged.

“I can’t just leave it here,” Yang said.

Ruby piped up. “She drives it in the rain all the time! One time back home she even drove it in a blizzard.”

“You don’t _drive_ a motorcycle, Rubes. You ride it." She put on her helmet. "I’ll see you guys at the dorm.”

“Yang!” Weiss cut in. “Stop. A giant, metal robot just pummeled you into a concrete wall.”

“And then I punched said robot into a million pieces. What’s your point?”

“If you insist on riding that death trap, at least take Blake with you,” Weiss proposed.

Blake raised an eyebrow.

Weiss scoffed. “Ugh, you know what I meant! Someone has to keep an eye on her.”

Yang turned to her partner, uncharacteristically conceding. “Do you want to ride back with me?”

Blake shrugged, forcing a casual air to hide her boiling enthusiasm. Riding a motorcycle was exciting enough, but riding Yang’s motorcycle _with Yang?_ Blake could already feel her heart thudding against its cage.

Weiss turned to Blake, her own aloofness poorly masking her concern. “Be prepared to take over if she passes out at the wheel. Got it?”

“Got it,” Blake echoed.

Yang sighed in frustration. “Weiss, I’m fine. We’ll see you guys later.”

Weiss and Ruby walked off. Ruby chirped on about how they could swing by the ramen shop if they took the long way home, and Weiss’ insistence that they avoid detours in order to beat the storm had absolutely no impact on Ruby’s rumbling stomach.

Blake waited for Yang to climb on the bike first, but Yang hesitated.

She took off her bright yellow helmet and held it out. “Um, I only have one. I’d feel better if you were wearing it.”

Blake considered turning down the offer, but Yang was clearly bothered by Weiss’ comments. The last thing she needed right now was her partner treating her like she was made of glass, so Blake swallowed her worry. It wasn't like they could share the helmet either way. 

With a nod, she put it on and fastened the chin strap.

Yang took her seat and kicked up the stand. It was almost unfair how cool she looked on the bike, and the image made Blake’s heart race. It really wasn't appropriate timing for such thoughts--she tried to calm herself down, but the impending probability of holding Yang tight as they sped down the damaged highway wasn’t helping.

“Hop on,” Yang invited, patting the space behind her.

Blake took her spot. The shape of the seat left little room between them.

“You’re gonna fall off if you don’t hold on,” Yang teased. The smile she tossed back over her shoulder was far too unconvincing, but Blake didn’t comment on it.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around Yang’s waist and settled into the opportunity to press against her partner. In this case, clinging to Yang was a vital safety measure, but ever since their talk in the garden, Blake was finding it harder to fall back on her justifications and excuses. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to hold Yang simply because she wanted to?

“Ready?” Her voice was dry, strained.

“All set,” Blake replied, hoping against enthusiasm that her first time on Bumblebee would be short for Yang’s sake.

As Blake soon learned, it was almost impossible to hold a conversation on a motorcycle in a brewing thunderstorm. Fortunately, the trip back was graciously efficient thanks to the partial bridge collapse, and there was almost no traffic in the area. 

They made it back to their room just as the storm picked up. Blake pulled out her scroll to see a new message from Ruby.

“Man, I wish I could see Weiss’ face right now,” Yang said, shedding her boots. “I bet she’s pissed to be stuck walking home in this.”

“Actually, it sounds like they won’t be back for a while. They ran into Sun and Neptune at the ramen shop and they're all waiting out the rain there.” Blake held up her phone to share a selfie of the four that Ruby had sent.

Yang examined the picture. “Wow. The guys really ditched us for noodles. I can respect that.”

“Are you hungry?” Blake asked, realizing then that they’d skipped most of their meals that day in favor of pursuing their leads on Roman. “I can ask Ruby to bring some food back for us.”

“Nah,” Yang said. She fumbled with the clasp on her jacket. It was a strange piece of clothing, Blake had noticed, only really sleeves and a collar. As confusing as it was from a practical standpoint, Blake wouldn’t complain in the slightest if Yang elected to wear it more often.

“Need some help with that?” Blake offered.

Yang opened her mouth, brows already furrowed. Her desire to get to sleep got the better of her, and the protesting expression fell away. “That’d be great.”

Blake deftly undid the little buckle on the collar. Before she could follow through on her intention to give Yang space, she noticed something concerning. Her partner was staring down at the space between them, refusing to look at Blake as she posed a question.

“Can you help me take it off?”

Blake started peeling the leather away from Yang’s skin, sticky with sweat. No wonder she needed help with her--

Bruises.

Dark purple, fresh and deep on her collarbone. Scathing red, blood vessels busted just beneath the skin of her shoulder. Stomach-churning green blotches all along her arms, a mosaic of less recent but barely healed damage.

All those colors--they didn’t belong on Yang. They were poor complements to her sunshine, her lightness, her joy. Ugly. _Wrong._

“Blake?” Yang whispered, a note of pleading underlining the name she usually spoke with such open affection.

“I...” Blake's own gasp interrupted her. She wasn't supposed to cry--who was she to start sobbing right now? If anything, her battered partner should be the one breaking down.

But Yang would never.

She hid this, after every fight, after every battle. Suffering in secret, pretending her vast collection of jackets was purely a fashion statement. Her aura could only work so fast, and the last few weeks had been overwhelming. They’d seen more action than some huntsmen did in their entire lifetimes, and at the front of every single fight--Yang, burning bright, holding the line, using herself as both shield and sword.

_It’s what makes her special,_ Ruby had said.

There was no way Yang showed this brutal portrait to her teammates, to her sister, to anyone who relied on her to take the hits and punch back twice as hard. That was Yang’s curse, to always get back up and keep fighting.

No matter how much she hurt.

How many times had Blake expected the same from her partner? Had she ever considered the toll Yang’s semblance might take on her body?

Before Blake could snap herself out of it, she felt the tears, hot on her face. She covered her mouth, hoping to at least hide the quiver in her lip.

“I’m fine," Yang said. It was a lie, as obvious and painful as the marks on her skin. 

Blake let her hand fall to her side, determined for once to be the one Yang could lean on. She touched her palm to Yang’s cheek, one of the few places unmarred by their recent battle. “You don’t have to be fine.”

Yang closed her eyes. She didn’t lean into the touch, but she didn’t flinch away, either.

Blake waited, hoping that Yang would stay here as long as she needed.

She must have known Blake would see them when she asked for help--there was no way around it. So why now? Why tonight?

Why Blake?

It was the wrong time, Blake knew, but she craved answers. It had to mean something. _They_ had to mean something.

Yang broke away. She trudged to their bunks, refusing to look back. “Goodnight.”

“Yang, wait.”

She stopped.

Cautious steps brought Blake back into Yang’s orbit. As she approached, she could see that Yang’s back was even worse off. Through the thin, white fabric of her shirt, dark patches like black holes consumed her.

Blake’s fingertips landed on a blank spot on Yang’s arm. She waited, expecting Yang to wince or walk away.

But she didn't. 

Perhaps it was the rush of emotion that swelled in Blake’s veins at the sound of Yang’s shallow inhales. Maybe it was the months of sly smiles and furtive glances and resolve crumbling. 

Blake touched her lips to the hot skin of Yang's shoulder, brushing like a comforting breeze over the edge of an angry mark.

Yang was a statue shocked to life, unaware of her own need to breathe.

Blake’s lips traced across her upper back, stopping at each visible bruise and seeing, acknowledging, reassuring that the danger was gone. Blake didn’t hate them, she realized--only the living came back with bruises, after all. They would heal. Yang would be okay, and Blake would help however she could.

Inspired, her hands drifted to the hem of Yang’s shirt. She moved it only slightly, toying, never forcing.

Yang shuddered--but stayed, rooted.

Slowly, Blake lifted the loose shirt to reveal Yang’s low back. Those signature dimples strained against puffy, swollen muscles. Blake recognized the dark, diagonal line seared across her spine, evidence of the moment Yang’s back had smashed into a column of concrete. She’d gone limp as she fell, and Blake remembered how she she forgot to panic because of the shock. 

She pushed her own guilt aside and focused. Yang drew in a shaky breath through gritted teeth, and Blake continued kissing along the bruise’s sharp edges. She lifted the shirt ever higher, impossibly slowly, always leaving space for Yang to stop her.

As long as the option to leave remained, Yang would never take it. 

Each new inch of skin held a hundred stories of victories and losses, a thousand possibilities to heal and be touched.

“Blake.” Yang’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

It finally made Blake pause. There was no warning or pushing--the opposite, in fact. A pull so strong, so enticing, so _greedy_ that Blake had to hold herself back.

Yang’s shirt was halfway up, bunched around her chest and suspended over her shoulder blades by Blake’s soothing hands. Blake considered letting the shirt fall, but she feared that even cloth could cut through such delicate tension.

She would let Yang lead for a moment. Boldness was a path better tread side-by-side.

“Yes?” Blake asked, barely recognizing the thick sound of her own voice. She felt like she was hearing herself under water, and the risk of drowning was far less interesting than what she might find at the bottom.

Yang turned around, Blake’s hold on her shirt light enough that her fingers simply traced along the hem to the front.

If she blinked, would it all vanish?

Along Yang’s ribs: more colors. Greens and yellows--mostly faded. It was some comfort, at least.

A thought crossed Blake’s mind. She let it tumble softly into the protected, sacred space between them. “Did I hurt you? On the ride home?”

Yang’s eyes flickered between Blake’s eyes and something lower--hands, lips? She was distracted, only half-thinking in her response. “What do you mean?”

Blake swallowed. “Was I holding you too tight?”

Yang’s shimmering gaze stilled when she found Blake’s eyes. With a little smile, she shook her head. “Never.”

Blake exhaled, relieving the nagging in her mind and the burning in her lungs.

Their usual difference in heights was smaller with Yang’s exhausted slouch.

Yang bit her lip hard, mouth curling into a violent frown. She pitched forward with a sob, her battered skeleton refusing to hold her upright any longer. Blake caught her, arms automatically wrapping in a loose, careful embrace.

In that moment, there was nothing in all of Remnant that could have moved Blake from that spot.

How tragic to discover the sun's own volition to hide on rainy days. 

Yang cried until Blake’s nearly dry shirt was soaked through again, the curve of her neck stained with tears. Blake only realized how tightly Yang had been holding her when she let go, the loss of pressure against her chest and lungs an unwelcome relief.

Blake’s thumbs shepherded Yang’s tears away. She could sense a dozen half-formed thoughts buzzing in space between them. Urging both of their minds to still, Blake touched her forehead to Yang’s. Eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as Yang’s eyes blinked closed.

“Let’s get you to sleep,” Blake said.

She felt Yang nod.

“Take my bed, okay?” _Take whatever you need--my breath, my heart, my bones. It all sings about you, anyway._

Vestiges of forced strength drained from Yang’s limbs as she settled under the blankets and curled onto her side.

Blake felt a tug on her hand--as if she would dream of leaving now. She knelt next to the bed, holding Yang’s hand and kissing each scabbed knuckle.

“I’ll be okay in the morning,” Yang croaked.

Without another way to say _It’s alright,_ Blake leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Yang’s brow.

The next day, she had to explain to Weiss and Ruby why they'd fallen asleep in the same bed, but the gratitude on Yang’s face when she woke up curled into Blake’s chest made it easy to drown out the questions.

***

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what scenes you'd like to see! if you've suggested a prompt before, it's on my list :D
> 
> i'm @kienava on tumblr.
> 
> love u all <3


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